


know just how to be cruel

by cloudings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 10 Spoilers, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudings/pseuds/cloudings
Summary: Castiel tries to talk to Dean after his becoming a demon.He’s not sure what Sam wanted from it.He’s not sure why he expected a better outcome.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	know just how to be cruel

**Author's Note:**

> rewatching supernatural and i’m only on season 6 again but for some reason i’m very emotional about demon!dean again so have this

“You haven’t been talking so much, angel,” it says. “Won’t even look at me. Have I — Is there something on my face?”

Castiel has never before felt such a raw, human need to break down. He tries not to let his eyes fill with tears as he gazes upon what was Dean Winchester. He tries not to think back to each time he’s heard Dean - the real Dean - ask that question, whether when sitting opposite him with a half-eaten burger in his hand or when he’d caught Castiel watching him at any other point since they’d known each other. God (and everything else) knew that he did that a lot. 

He’s doing it now, too. Or, trying not to, to be more accurate. He promised Sam that he’d give it his best go to try and talk it around, get _something_ out of this dark shell. But it’s so painful to look at. 

Castiel remembers every part of Dean Winchester. He remembers feasting his stare upon him the first time that he ever saw him; his soul, as bright as Castiel could have imagined the Chosen One to be, standing out so brilliantly amongst those dirty creatures. He remembers rebuilding him, his body, studying every last scar to make sure he got it perfect; remembers being impressed despite himself at the time with the time and effort that the human had put into maintaining such a strong body. Useful for fighting those same dirty creatures. 

Now, Castiel tries hard not to remember, he is one of those. And Dean Winchester — beautiful, _kind_ Dean Winchester did not suit the gnarled and beastly face that he now wore. He tries not to look. He tries. He tries to remember the soul he once saved.

“Hello?” it says, clucking its tongue with annoyance. Castiel just frowns further. “Is anyone home? You come in here to talk to me, Cassie, or to just stare at the corner?”

He’s kept his sarcasm, Castiel thinks. He feels nails dig into his palm and his knuckles whiten. It’s so like Dean. His eyes screw shut.

“Castiel,” it coos. “Come on, look at me, would you?” 

He gives in. He knew he would. Above all, it’s Dean’s voice asking him to. He couldn’t resist for long. He should’ve known that. 

It’s ugly and grotesque and he wants to look away at _once —_ but he doesn’t. And then he finds that if he focuses hard enough then he doesn’t have to look at or see his disgusting true form, and instead he can settle his eyes upon the human form that he’s in; the _Dean_ that he rebuilt, atom for atom, cell for cell. He looks into those green eyes and he wills desperately for something, anything, any other higher power that might be out there that Cas hasn’t given the fuck up on yet for them never to turn black again, for the valleys in them to stretch forever and never see night. 

“Please,” he whispers. He’s not sure what he’s asking for. Perhaps some patience. Probably some pity. An inch of something that would remind him of the old Dean; the real Dean. The _please_ he releases holds so much in it that once he speaks it it feels as if a weight is lifted from his chest and forced from his throat. But it’s back again at once, not giving him space to breathe. It’s doubled, and for some reason Castiel feels like he needs to say more, to bare his heart to this — this _thing —_ as if it might somehow bring his Dean back if he begged enough, if he cried enough to make up for all of the mistakes that he couldn’t make up for when he had him. 

Not that he ever really had him, he thinks. Not like he could. 

And then, as his vision actually begins to become cloudy with the ruinous tears of his blatant affection, he thinks that he’d prefer to see the demon form of it again. 

The smirk that it’s wearing, Castiel has seen a million times on that face before. It’s painful to see directed at him — in this context, in this room, it is torture for him. It’s realised something about Cas that it knows it can use to its advantage. Under that gaze, Cas feels like a piece of meat.

“I know,” it says. “I’m hot shit, aren’t I?”

Castiel continues to frown at him. He couldn’t force himself to do anything but. He’s still mourning. 

“I’m not actually surprised that you wanted a piece of this,” it laughs, and though the smile there is ripe with its own form of humour, there is none of the warmth that Dean always had in his expressions. It makes Cas feel sick. It continues, when Cas doesn’t respond again, “How long? Tell me, go on. Don’t say I’m wrong. I can see it in your eyes.”

And Castiel might have done. Nights when being and feeling human got to him and he lay in bed alone, holding himself in his hand, experimenting, thinking of valleys and freckles and hands worn down by time. Because he would not think of anything, anyone else. It wasn’t even a consideration, somehow. 

He can’t pinpoint an exact moment when he realised that physicality with Dean may have been something he wanted. Outside the strip club, underneath his arm, both of them shaking with laughter? Healing him for the millionth time, fingers upon his forehead? Watching him from Heaven when he shouldn’t have been, when there was certainly more important things to be doing, waiting and wishing he would pray —

He clears his throat. He would not tell the demon, anyway. Would not confirm its taunts. And it did not do to dwell on such things. 

“You could still have it if you want, angel,” it said. Its voice was a purr. “Come on over and let me out of this thing, I’ll give you everything you could have wanted from me.”

Castiel drops his head. It’s not even a consideration. Castiel had gone against everything in his nature and fallen in love with Dean Winchester, not because of his body, his freckles, his hands, but because of _him,_ and every moment he’d proven himself to be beyond anything Cas could have imagined — to constantly do the impossible and come out the other side with a dry retort and a request for beer. 

He shakes his head, glad that the demon can’t see his face from this angle because now a tear _does_ slide down his nose and he laments quietly, knowing that it could never begin to give Castiel everything that he had wanted with Dean. 

The door slams behind him and mutes the angry yells bleeding out from inside the room. He turns to Sam, who had been waiting the whole time by the door, and apologises for his incompetence. 


End file.
